


A Highered Price

by Silver Lioness (Rumpels_Darker_Dearie)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Desk Sex, F/M, Frottaging, Hermione!Multi, Het, Light BDSM, May/December Relationship, Multi, Sexual References From The Start, Smut, dub con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:31:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumpels_Darker_Dearie/pseuds/Silver%20Lioness





	A Highered Price

 

O.W.L – One Line Wednesday Prompt:

The Line: You here to finish me off sweetheart?

Pairing: Aloysius Kilgrave Scabior; Hermione Jean Granger

 

“You set the table for the barber Sweeney Todd yeah.

_You cross the path the gunman trod_

_you'd clip the wings off of any rising god.._.”

 **Levellers** : The Riverflow (My sister is a huge Levellers fan and it rubbed off on me. They are folk rock, protest band.)

 

A Tentative Deal

 

The Warden, a rather thin wizard that could be related to Filch, of Azkaban had grumbled as he left the witch in his office. Of course he knew about her. He'd have to be living, well, under a rock for him not to have done. He knew that the war would not have been won without her and he, with his band of retired Aurors, would not be employed as Azkaban guards without her initiative. He just did not like being told what to do by hoity-toity females who ought not have business in men's affairs. Normally, she would have seethed at this but, considering the man was over 100 she gave him some slack. In his day she would _not_ be sitting here telling him what to do. She'd be the one in the office handwriting all the reports and filing them. He did smile at her though as he handed her a cup of cocoa.

 

“The only thing that will warm yer 'ands up!” he smiled.

 

She sighed as she stared around the office. Full of knick-knacks from the man's life. Seemed a bit of a sorry and lonely existence, there were no pictures of a slowly growing brood of children. No wedding photographs. Only pictures of Auror training, friends from his time at Hogwarts, and various newspaper clippings of articles about long dead criminals he had captured. She sipped the cocoa carefully sitting back, crossing one leg over the other, and took to looking in the fire instead. No one else would come here. Even Harry shouldered the responsibility towards her and he did not even look guilty about it either.

She rubbed her forehead as she looked at the ring that Ginny had bought for her as a: Sorry-I'm-Related-To-A-Jerk, gift at the weekend. It had only been a month ago that Hermione walked in on Ronald in their bed with none other than Cho Chang!

Hermione sneered at the bitchy Ravenclaw: “I think that you're the one with the taste for popular wizards!” before launching birds to peck at the witch leaving her with scars and bruises that were, even now, being healed.

Ron tried to apologise but considering his apology was: “You're not normally home this early!” she unleashed what was considered the seven fires of hell on him and he was taking much longer to recover.

Whilst the family rallied around him. Molly did not berate Hermione in the slightest, rather she hugged the girl and told her that she was always welcome at the Burrow and that she still had three eligible sons to marry off. Yes, grinned Hermione, I do not think Angelina would like me to get into any kind of action with Fred – and being with George would be a bit weird considering she had actually kissed two of his brothers. The other was Charlie. Charlie was fun but he'd want his partner to move to Romania with him and she was not fond of change. So, she had to resign herself to the fact that she would not be entering the UK Wizarding population's largest family. She was grateful for the Weasley family. Mind you, I suppose I did save Fred...

Suddenly, the witch turned on her high heels at the sound of keys jangling in the lock. The Warden walked in with two others. Either side of the Prisoner stood another of the ancient guards, a burly looking woman who could have been Millicent's grandmother if it was not for the fact that she seemed to be wearing Hufflepuff colours. Proudly sporting a Benjamin Brock sweater. If it was a certainty that the woman was related, Hermione would have had asked how Millicent was out of politeness. Although stilted, she had since shared small talk with the witch. Milly had problems with her family due to her not wanting to marry Goyle. Not that Hermione could blame the witch, of course, the fact that Millicent liked witches was also a bother.

“Auror Dalrymple,” the woman said gruffly. “Yer that Granger child, Milly speaks of you in letters.”

“Milly?”

“Millicent Bulstrode,” Auror Dalrymple sniffed. “My great niece.”

Ah, Hermione sighed, that would explain the similarity. She then took a lazy view of the criminal between the Warden and the Auror Guard.

“We speak at the ministry when our paths cross.”

“So she says,” Auror Dalrymple smiled. It lent her an entirely different look. Suddenly Hermione could imagine this witch knitting with cats on her lap. “She needs a kind word every now and then. Heavens do I know that...” Hermione saw sadness behind Auror Dalrymple's faded blue eyes. The twinkle rapidly dissipated as if recalling arguments of her own with her parents. “Do I know that indeed.”

“Perhaps you should write to her more often then and offer her that kind word, blood is supposed to be thicker than water.”

“I like you, gel,” the elder witch said. “Really think yer what we need more of: spunk, prettiness, wisdom. Why more young people can't be more like you I can't imagine.”

Oh I am a special case, Hermione thought, nothing difficult. The prettiness is only mentioned by those who do not want anything to do with me. I made friends with Harry Potter, fight a few battles, save the Headmaster and I suddenly become little miss Popularity. One year before she met Harry she was Beaver Breath, and had to be home taught. The thought of being at a school exhilarated her, no wonder she was over-enthused and Ron's hurtful remarks just cut her, he did not even ask her why she was happy to be there.

“I see you have the Prisoner?” Hermione asked.

“The Prisoner has a name,” the man sighed fed up with being ignored.

“Prisoner Number 453 – as you requested!”

“Just deposit him in the seat over there,” said Hermione. “Then leave me alone with him.”

“Alone,” The Warden sniffed. “Not to...”

“He is in no danger from me and I can assure you, Warden, I am in no danger from him.”

Scabior winked and smirked cheerfully at the aged Guardians. He made a point of putting his Prison Issue booted feet on the coffee table. The young witch arched an eyebrow at the impudent crook. The guardians then left the room, holding a worried look in their faces. The wizard was a High Risk ward and has been caught many times trying to escape. They would rather be an extra wand in case the loathsome man tried to attack the pretty young woman.

“Hello beautiful,” he said the moment the door clicked shut. “You here to finish me off sweetheart.”

Hermione took to pacing the floor. Drawing his attention to long-limbs accentuated by slim forest green heel-backs. He felt a slight tightening of his trousers at the sight of her in five inch stiletto's, the pointed heels carved like the shape of her wand. The same wand that was currently pointing at Scabior. A mess of a Wizard, a hired thug but Hermione knew better. Nonchalantly she stood there, leaning casually against the side of the desk, tapping her fingers against her hip in time with the crackling of the fire. Lazily, Hermione shrugged her shoulders. He watched them as she quietly examined her French polish nails.

"Quite the opposite actually," she said, coolly authoritatively, arrogantly confident in her purpose here. "I'm going to make a deal with you - you see, we, that is the Ministry - are still having trouble finding some _rather tricky_ little Death Eaters,” he tilted his head, blue eyes sparkling with curiosity. “You are known to be the best tracker of _undesirables_ as I am well-aware," the wizard arched an eyebrow smirking in acknowledgement of their personal history. Nimue, he sighed, she's hot. "I come to you with a proposition," he grinned liking where this was headed. "I know you like to trade for your services so how about Freedom to help us out? You know a scratch your back sort of deal..." Scabior's grin grew positively fox-like as his eyes glinted in the dying light of the fire of the Warden's office in Azkaban Prison. "So," she said walking up to him holding her hand out, "do we have a deal?"

“So, beautiful,” he paused, “let me get this straight,” he sat up straight. Elegantly removing his legs from the coffee table. The man still had that unnerving grin on his face. Hermione backed farther into the desk as if it could protect herself from him. “You want to return me to the Ministry, in my old capacity, but for your side?”

“For a Pardon and Freedom.”

“Now why don't I believe you, precious?”

“Not all of us communicate in double meanings,” Hermione sighed. She Accio'd her brief case and opened it by a combination of DNA and magic, no one could see her case but her. It was even warded against Polyjuice. She bought out a light buff coloured file and opened it: “Aloysius Kilgrave Scabior,” she read. “Age: 35,” she raised an eyebrow and scanned him again. “Height: Five Foot 8 Inches.”

“What other measurements are you interested in sweetheart?” he winked.

“Not that one,” she answered coolly. “Just your credentials.”

“Credentials can get a lot of people into trouble.”

Hermione tried to control the giggle: “Specialities: Tracking, catching those who are not worthy, has been given extra sensitive glands – useful to find those who are tricky to find. Loyalties: “Where there is a price, I'm yours!” Last seen: Battle of Hogwarts, wearing a girly scarf before being carted off to Azkaban. He has been a model prisoner but will not give up the scarf...”

“You're not getting it back,” he leered. “I almost _died_ with your delicious scent wrapped around me. It was as close to the real thing I was going to get.”

“35,” she sighed.

“So,” he shrugged. “I know the age gap is a bit unorthodox but we're wizards sweetheart, we're virile for a hell of a lot longer than a muggle!”

Hermione rubbed her forehead. That was true, Narcissa had two new children, turned out for all their purity Lucius and Narcissa were biologically incapable of producing children together which was why Draco was such a spoiled brat. Remus was saved by her in the final battle but were to late to rescue Dora. Lucius has since tried to woo _her_ , as if, she rubbed her head remembering the way he was always around when she least desired him to be. Hermione sighed. Truth was Hermione was scared of entering another relationship so soon after Ronald had harmed her heart.

“No doubt,” she smiled. “I am not in a...”

“Lemme guess, found ginger-whinger in bed with another witch,” Scabior tutted shaking his head and sighed. “I would never have treated you like that, beautiful.”

“My _name_ is Hermione, not beautiful!”

“Really, I thought it was Penelope,” he grinned again. “So, Hermione, you think you can flash a bit of thigh, some silken stocking and I want freedom and a pardon if I help catch my old comrade-in-arms.”

Hermione coughed and re-read the quote he gave on his loyalties: “So,” she said snapping the file shut.

The flames danced seductive shadows over her skin. For an instant he was transported back to the campfires – the smell of burning wood, smoke-filled eyes, and the scent of fresh meat being roasted on the spit. Memories assaulted him of the players strumming up their banjo's, lutes, drums and guitars. Being swept into impromptu dancing with raven haired witches in bright red long flowing skirts. Seduced by the flame. Finishing with a ceremonial howling with the wolves when the moon shone down on their gypsy festivities.

“I would have thought a Pardon courtesy of the state and your Freedom to travel would have been more important than being in a 10 x 5 damp, leaking, cold cell floor.”

At this Scabior stood up and walked over to her in a sort of mesmerising sway as if he and the fire were one. He reached out and scrunched up her free hair in his hand and brought the thick wavy locks to his nose and sniffed. She refused to be cowed by such behaviour. Though, she grimaced, it was not fear she should have worried about but another type of emotion...

A rather physical emotion that dampened her knickers and caused her pupils to dilate.

“What's your answer?” she said huskily.

“My price is _now_ what my price was _then_ ,” he sighed, stepping up to her, making sure she felt the length of his body nearing her.

“You will have to refresh my memory,” Hermione said as he danced his fingertips down the column of her throat.

“I will hunt your _undesirables_ for your _Ministry_ ,” he leaned in and smirked as he caught signs of arousal. “No matter who they are, beautiful, but I want more than freedom and a pardon.”

Hermione's throat felt like the sahara had invaded her body. When was the last time she had a glass of water? She could not remember. Now it felt important information she should be able to recall.

“Th-those are our terms,” she stammered. Her heart beat bruisingly against her chest. “T-take it or...”

“My terms are this,” he whispered. “I worked in a gang before, I still require help now. So,” he said as he rested a hand on her hip to keep her there. It was nice that he could still intimidate the sweetly fragrant witch. “I am allowed to be an honorary Auror. I work with Potter or no one, and I will only report to you.”

“Th-that seems...”

“And,” he pressed a long finger against her quivering mouth. “As I may be a flight risk I request that if anyone has to be my keeper I will be kept by you.”

“In other words...”

“In other words, beautiful, my price is your time.”

Gulping down her feelings, Hermione nodded. Hoping that he would let her go now. No such hope.

“Then you can run along to Minister Shackles, and tell him that I work with you and Potter.”

He brushed his lips ever so tenderly along her cheekbone, pleased with the gasp she emitted from his feather light touch.

“I'll be back in a week with a contract and a setup. Plus, the Minister,” she said sternly as she tried to dissuade his hand from creeping under her black a-line skirt. “Now. If you do not mind Mr Scabior. I...”

“When I'm out of here,” Scabior whispered. “I will have freedom and that includes all over access to you, beautiful.”

Hermione did not respond, she just locked eyes with his. “WARDEN!” she yelled.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” Scabior smiled.

 

* * *

The moment Hermione walked into the Ministry showers she felt clean. Having him drooling over her brought back memories of that night. However, going to him for help was her idea, so she'd live with it. The consequences be damned.

Once in a clean set of robes, Hermione walked over to the lifts and stated her destination. Unfortunately a light lilac-gloved hand held the door open for her.

“Miss Granger,” a silken voice whispered in her ear.

“Mr Malfoy,” Hermione sighed as she walked to the lift with Lucius, her shadow, following her in. “I am sure my answer is the same as it was four hours ago,” she said once the doors were closed.

“You know that we would work well together, Miss Granger, so why are you refusing the position.”

“Because it is in your house.”

“It's changed.”

“So Draco and Remus have told me. There is still one problem,” Hermione sighed.

“What is that?” Lucius asked.

“Look in a mirror,” she timed that just right for her to step out into the wide reception area of the Minister's office. “Miss Hermione Granger to see Minister Shacklebolt,” she said to the elderly receptionist.

“Go right in,” the witch said.

Lucius watched the young witch walk off with a smirk plastered across his face. He had made his own demands to the Minister for his help.

“Yes,” Kingsley looked up. Hermione sighed again trying to keep her hormones under control. Why was it always the ones you want to look at you... won't? “Hermione, sit down, did your idea come off as you expected?”

“Yes and no, Minister,” she said. “Mr Scabior says he will help but he will only work for Harry and I.”

“Ah, so he has made demands of you?”

“Sort of personal ones,” Hermione mumbled.

“I have had an idea of my own,” Kingsley smiled. “Inspired by yours actually,” he tapped the door three times and in walked... “You know Lucius, he's offered to work with us to capture these renegades too.”

Hermione groaned. This was not her day!

“What was our terms, Minister?” Lucius smooth silk voice whispered over Hermione's already tenderised flesh.

“Mr Malfoy will work with the Prisoner, Mr Potter, You, and Mr Zabini.”

“Is Mr Malfoy aware of the Prisoner I have chosen for this little charade?”

“Do tell, Miss Granger,” Hermione smiled as she got the files out. “Thank you.”

Hermione sniffed as she awaited Lucius response. She glanced up at the lack of even a sigh and saw his eyes. Cold, grey eyes that read the information with nothing but hatred in them.

“I take it the deal is off, Mr Malfoy?”

“Au contraire,” Lucius smiled so tightly Hermione was sure it was pulling skin painfully over his face. “Well, I expect you, Mr Potter, Mr Zabini and the approbate in my home next week. Good day Minister, Miss Granger.”

That was odd, why did Lucius despise Scabior so much?

 


End file.
